Talk:Active Imagination/@comment-25843559-20150709045201
i liked this story, very well done. some of the wording was a bit akward and repiditive, but otherwise very solid, 7.25/10. if you dont mind, ive rewriten the story a little bit. its still the same story, just tweeked with my personal style. im gonna post it here with this comment, message me if you would like me to take it down. \/\/\/ As a child, I had a very active imagination. I would come up with scenarios in my head, think of characters on the spot, and make up a story to tell my younger sister as she drifted off to sleep… I just thought I had a talent for it. My parents smiled as I began using this talent for the creative pieces of art I brought home from school. Paintings, stories, songs filed onto a compact disk… And my mother would hold me close and whisper into my ear; “You have an excellent gift Thomas.” And that gift stuck with me all my life. In school, I didn’t really have... Friends, so I’d make them up. On the spot if i had to. I could have a new one each day. I would sketch them into one of my books. The kids at school would laugh at me, but I didn’t care. I had my imagination, and it was were my friends existed. I would sit alone, and talk to the friends I had imagined out of nothing. They each had unique personalities too. The teachers would smile whenever they walked by me. “Hello Thomas. How’s your imagination going?” they would ask. “Good,” I would reply, “so-and-so has played with me today.” “That’s nice. Now off to class.” That’s all I really remember from those days, apart from the adventures in my mind. But things changed in high school, I met a girl. I had never made any real friends before, so I was incredibly nervous. when i finally mustered up the courage, I walked over to her and started to talk. “H…Hello there, m-my name is Thomas.” I tried to smile casually at her, ignoring my imaginary friends’ sneers and giggles around me. I never really grew out of my imagination... “Nice to meet you Thomas,” she said in a sweet tone. “im Sarah.” From then on, I spent most of my days with Sarah. My imaginary friends soon left, disappearing from my memory. But I had an actual friend now. Not a fake friend, a real one. A friend I could actually talk to, to actually be with… When we got older, we dated. We got the same job, we lived together, we had all the time we needed to be with one another. Then, when the time felt right, I proposed to her. She said yes, she hugged me and cried. we were happy For the next couple of months we planned our wedding. about a week before the wedding, Sarah and i talked about our honeymoon.. “where should we go after the wedding?” She asked. “somewhere romantic?” “Yes,” I said happily, “how about we to go to France? Do you want to go there?” “Yes, France it is!” She replied gleefully. Hugging me tightly. as we embraced each other, the walls of the room began to fade to white. intensely white. Like burning phosphorous. The furniture crumbled to nothing, the lights burned away. I grabbed Sarah and rushed to the door. when i grabbed the knob, it evaporated in my grip… I look back at the room, now empty, only Sarah was there. The walls looked plush, as if they were padded with pillows. and a bed slowly constructed itself in the corner. I looked at Sarah, the color in her skin fading. She started to disappear, turning to dust where the gray affected her . I went to reach out for her, but my arms were stuck. a straight jacket had blossomed around me. I pulled, and fought, and struggled, but it was no use. I watched her fall from existence. My love, my life, my only friend... Gone... Leaving me in this empty room, this prison, this… This asylum... What can I say? I have a very active imagination...